Courting chaos
by Sorla
Summary: Malfoy was not entirely sane, but it all seemed to work out just fine because she wasn't sure she was either, these days. He would probably tell her that being sound of mind or having morals was just a waste of time… Hermione/Draco, AU from book six.
1. Courting chaos

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling, not me.

Courting chaos, chapter one.

Seeing shades of grey sucked. In fact, being sound of mind or having morals was just a waste of time…

Author's note: This is not an action-filled story brimming with romance; it is simply a story about the sacrifices behind every achievement. This is also a story about how each little step towards that goal can leave a bitter aftertaste. I can't thank my beta reader enough; the story flows much more smoothly and is easier to understand after she's gone through it. Enjoy!

* * *

Imagine a world where life has just gotten a little harder, a little bleaker. Never fear, hope still reigns supreme but faith is getting harder to come by; that is what happens when the shadow of war slowly creeps upon you and covers you from head to toe. Living in the shadow makes life seem so precious, and so hard to enjoy.

A vision of an easy fight with a clear ending was abandoned early by everyone, dark and light, alike but this silent fight with small victories and too costly losses was not expected.

Looking over your shoulder got old fast, but somehow you never got tired of staying alive.

* * *

Why would they always assume that he didn't - or couldn't - love or care? Did they entertain some kind of notion that if you killed people, tortured them, you had no right to something that wonderful; that his capacity for love was slowly drained away each time he took another life? It wouldn't surprise him if they thought exactly that. Bloody fools. It always amazed him that the rules that would apply to him didn't cover them, for the grand reason that they were "good."

He wasn't two separate persons. Wherever he was, whatever he did, he was always himself. Some things needed to be done and some things he took pride in.

He was deep in a dark forest with no light and liked it that way. He used to crave guidance or at least a purpose, but would it help? He was well and truly lost and had started to enjoy himself too much to ever go back. Safely paved roads were long gone now.

Whatever people thought, he did realize that sanity was not something you could put away in a box and just use occasionally. When you left it behind by the side of the road like a wounded animal you would be hard pressed to take it back. Honestly, did he look like a man who wanted a squashed badger inside his head?

Draco Malfoy did not think sanity was overrated; it simply wasn't necessary. He knew the way around his own mind, thank you very much. Admitting to losing his way from time to time was not the same thing as saying that he didn't know where he was.

It all ended up as shades of grey anyhow.

Though sometimes, to his own chagrin, he followed a beacon of light; like a moth to the flame, always miscalculating and getting burnt. Since painful and burning consequences always were to be avoided, who could blame him for wanting to tarnish the light a little? Tarnished objects always did hold a little more appeal for him.

* * *

Why was it always grey and dark when they held these conversations? Would it be better if birds were singing and the sun were shining, or would it make it all absurd to the point where she would try to maim the closest person just to make everything less cheery? Well, no matter what, it was dark and crowded and she could live with it. Living with herself was becoming more of a problem, though, and this conversation held during the planning of one of the next raids was decidedly not going to help.

"I know what you think, and what you feel about it, Harry, but it is saving lives," she said and looked beseechingly at him.

"And takes them too! He leaves a trail of dead muggles behind him wherever he goes!" Harry answered her.

"He would do it anyway, why not get something that might help us in the process?"

"Please tell me you didn't mean that? You want us to deal with the devil and pay with someone else's blood?" Harry looked disgusted and sad.

Why couldn't he understand? She was not going to allow him to put all the responsibility on her shoulders anymore. She got the information he wanted, he used it well and he always pretended that he didn't know where it came from. What price she paid to get it.

"I pay with pieces of my fucking soul, Harry Potter! I need you to admit that and stop me from going crazy!" She breathed deeply and told herself that she would not storm off before hearing at least one half-decent answer this time.

"I can't weigh lives, Hermione," he told her. He sounded old and sad.

"But seemingly I can, and should, for your sake? It's a newly acquired skill but it is being honed into perfection, Harry. I will trade your life for a stranger's, even ten strangers', simply because you are Harry and they are just that, strangers. "

He could do sad all he wanted, because she could do righteous indignation until the world ended. She could do it, at least, until her world ended, something that didn't seem all too unlikely these days.

When she looked at Harry again he seemed… compassionate. She wasn't going to take it.

"Don't you even dare ask me how I'm going to live with myself later on," she practically snarled at him. "Ginny already tried and she didn't appreciate the answer. I doubt you will, either."

There was no decent answer forthcoming and that was her cue for a dramatic exit, or maybe a strategic retreat. She considered giving the audience a bow but left it at a rude hand gesture.

She thought about going to her room but decided that her lack of morals probably wouldn't show as much in the library. Maybe she could hide behind one of the old Black genealogies or a large firewhiskey. She knew Ron had a small stash somewhere.

* * *

He tried leaving her with impossible choices and always made her sacrifice something; he gave her good information in return, the very best, but making her hurt became a hobby.

When he first started he could catch her looking upset, sad, and even nauseous, but she had been getting a lot better at hiding her feelings lately. Disdain and indifference had replaced her earlier range of emotions.

No matter how jaded you think you have become there is always a little innocence left hiding in a corner. Making her choose who lived and who died killed something precious in her and it was sweet to watch.

* * *

Even with four large whiskies inside, the world did not feel like a better place. Actually, it felt decidedly worse. She couldn't become all emotional over her decisions because, frankly, that would end badly. In the beginning she tried avoidance and denial, but they never did work like they were supposed to for her. Having a heart-to-heart discussion about her decisions probably wasn't the brightest idea either. She could see the end of that conversation and it came abruptly. Boys, the prettiest dresses, unrequited love and muggle massacres condoned by her. Probably Bellatrix Lestrange's kind of conversation only with slightly less blood in it.

If she had thought it would help she would have lodged a complaint against the fates, but as a strict believer in logic and dealing with the consequences of one's actions she realized that they were never going to listen to her.

So she sat still in front of the fire waiting for the meeting to end. Ron would find her and most likely sober her up. After a moment filled with more morbid thoughts she looked at her glass, looked at the bottle standing on the small oak table by her armchair, and decided that oblivion could come faster and taste decidedly better than this. Ron could find her later on.

* * *

Blood wasn't just blood. He knew for a fact that his was more valuable than others'. He figured out early on that proof didn't matter; if he knew it, if he could feel it, it had to be true.

So having someone save him, save his blood was more than gratifying, it was right. Not, on the whole, a good thing, and best paid in kind with a blood debt, a life debt. Whatever, truly whatever it took, he would fulfill it. That is what made him, well, him. Draco Malfoy. Better than others.

So if you mix blood, respect and a grudging love, what do you get: a reason to live, a reason for revenge and a hell of a lot of sorrow.

It didn't make him stable and it definitely didn't make him kind or likeable. Well, he could always be thankful for the small things. Not that he cared for small things. No, big, clever and grandiose things were always better.

He had a new idea and now he just needed information and leverage. All of it revolved around her, like so much did these days. So he would push, pull and bend her until she broke. Granger never caved under pressure, but if he applied that pressure for long enough and then took it away, then she would break. A broken Granger would mean a free Malfoy. A bargain, really, when you looked at it.


	2. Pursuing the unattainable

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling, not me.

Courting chaos, chapter two: Pursuing the unattainable.

"_To pursue the unattainable is insanity, yet the thoughtless can never refrain from doing so."_ – Marcus Aurelius

* * *

Waking up from attempted oblivion was never sweet. She felt stretched too thin, like she didn't belong in her own body. Sometimes she actually thought that the kind of stupor you could get from alcohol was to be preferred to the feeling you got when you woke up from using a dreamless sleep potion.

After getting dressed and going downstairs in the gloom, she realized her mistake of going to bed early. No one was awake yet, and even the different shifts of guarding Order members wouldn't change for at least one more hour. Not that she cared for company after yesterday's scene at the meeting, but the Black house was at its most depressing early in the morning. Dead and dark. No amount of tea with toast could make it better, only the presence of other people.

In the end she settled for coffee and yesterday's paper. Every day that came without a Death Eater attack to report, they desperately tried to be normal. Sports, international news, ministry decrees, weddings, deaths. Ah, well, the deaths had risen, but they were conveniently in the back of the paper and could be safely ignored while looking for the comics. Being by herself without anyone to comment on her behavior she took the time to read every death rune. These were among the people she didn't save, couldn't save or sometimes simply chose not to save. Her hubris hadn't reached quite so far that she imagined that every death in there was because of her, but even one was too many.

She wanted to kill him sometimes, for telling her about his plans, for choosing her to deal with it all. Reason told her that it wouldn't do any good. He would be replaced by someone who wouldn't give her information. Most of the things he did, he did for Voldemort, some things he did for himself and some things he chose simply not to do. Malfoy seemed to be controlled by his whims and, however a half-assed ally he was, that was a scary thought.

When Remus arrived an hour later she was reading about the problems the French had with a new influenza and nodded civilly at him when he took a seat across the table. She could see that he wanted to speak to her, most likely about yesterday, so she made her excuses, gave him the paper and left for the library once again. She was supposed to check over all the wards today, here at the house and their different safe houses. Since no one knew where all the houses were she would have to hunt down eight different people and Side-Along Apparate blindly with them. She could barely control her joy at that thought. Later, she had a date with the devil.

* * *

Malfoy never made her wait for long. Being a double-crossing spy had made him more punctual than she could remember him being in school. She actually had a small compartment in her head marked Malfoy. Subtitled, a disaster waiting to happen. In it she put everything she learned from him or about him. She figured the disaster waiting to happen was pure kindness on her part. Malfoy made disaster happen everywhere, all the time. Still, knowledge is power and she needed every scrap of it. The only problem was that all her knowledge relied on him being sane and she had started to doubt that early on in this twisted little agreement they had. He didn't drool and she hadn't been able to reveal any red glints in his eyes, but he was not playing on the sane side of the field. He seemed to operate on two planes at the same time, and one of them existed only in his own head.

She wondered what kind of dilemma he would present her with today. Since they were meeting in a park, she couldn't even begin to guess. When he first had approached her with information regarding the Death Eaters and their activities he would simply leave it all in a package for her. When she stopped trying to hex him and realized he was actually giving her real, very strategically important information, he started insulting her. None-too-subtle barbs about her blood, her upbringing and her looks. She guessed the insults were more habit for him than anything else, though it seemed to amuse him to watch her struggle not to curse him. The meetings were always held at different times in very different places. Always very Muggle places. After the first time she ventured a "thank you" for the information, he arrived with two packages to the next meeting. Both held information about attacks, corruption in the ministry or people who were looking for information about the Order. Malfoy told her she could only pick one. For the one she chose he would supply the password that would bypass the charm he had put on it. For the other, he wouldn't.

She ranted, she raved, and she threatened him. Didn't he realize that it was people's lives he was playing games with? Oh, he understood perfectly and still did it with a smile. He probably couldn't give her too much information without giving himself away, but suddenly she had to make the choices and accept the responsibility of those choices. After making her choice he muttered something to the package and then gave her the other as well. Told her that there was nothing too complicated on it and that she could try revealing what was in it.

She remembered coming back to the headquarters, throwing the information at Harry and starting to unravel the charm on the rest of the papers. No eating, no sleeping until it was finished. It still took her the best part of two days and by then it was too late.

All the information in the package was entirely correct.

The next time they met it was the same, two packages and one choice. This time she didn't hang around, trying to contain her anger. Instead she picked one bundle of information, got it unlocked and left. Sometimes he would give her both the packages of information and she had never been able to unlock the charms in time so far. Then he started telling her the information inside, no details but enough to make it possible for her to judge which set of details she needed the most. If she was lucky she could deduce some things from his descriptions but somehow it all seemed to end in chaos anyhow. Then, even later, after she had learned to live with the fact that she was the one to decide the fate of others, he changed the rules again. Suddenly she received only the one package. It had made her angry and bewildered. A little lost. What did he want now? They were back to square one and she had no clue to as why. That strange state of confusion and relief lasted until she started seeing the patterns after each meeting. She happened to go past the small corner shop where they last had met. It was nothing but a burnt-out shell. Just a couple of years ago she could have passed it off as a coincidence; it wasn't the safest area of the city, after all. But suspicion colored by a dash of paranoia had her start going through the Muggle newspapers after more clues. Clues she found in abundance. Wherever they had met something had happened afterwards. It could be as easy as a small fire, an outburst of surprising violence or destruction of property. As soon as she knew what to look for, it escalated. Wasn't that just his way, why do something if the other part won't acknowledge it? She had tried rescheduling, putting meetings in different places but then he just didn't show up and she had to see even more attacks on her people, her friends, that she didn't have a chance to stop. So she started weighing lives and it always seemed to be more important for her to guard those she knew and loved.

So now she sat here in the park, thinking that she wouldn't regret any dead ducks or even the odd old lady or two.

* * *

He didn't enjoy their meetings as such, though it filled him with a sense of calm and satisfaction to see her upset. He did his very best to make her feel upset, otherwise he would have been disappointed.

When she left he could sense that she wouldn't be so sad about something happening to the park. He couldn't imagine anyone being sad about something happening to the park, actually. It was disgusting. He would leave the park exactly as he found it since doing anything, especially burning it to the ground, would only have been an improvement. No, today he would concentrate on the small church just a stone's throw away from the park. Muggle religion wasn't high on the list of things he disliked, but it was a nice building. Someone would be sad if anything happened to it. He decided that anyone inside needed to be carefully removed before the fire, possibly in a more painful way than breathing too much smoke or burning up would be. Luckily he had access to many wonderful and multicolored potions for situations just like this.

He thought for a while about the people who would dislike it and about the people who would be most likely to cheer him on. He didn't care for any of them.

Murder and mayhem it was, then.


	3. Men exist for each other

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling, not me.

-

Courting chaos, chapter three: Men exist for each other.

"_Men exist for each other. Then either improve them, or put up with them."_ – Marcus Aurelius

* * *

She knew she could be cheerful. She used to be the queen of good cheer and common sense. Slightly forced cheer at times, she had to admit, but now she didn't remember how to do it anymore.

She remembered yesterday's conversation and how she had felt safe enough to ask questions. She had even felt that she had the right to some real answers. She had forgotten that Malfoy didn't deal in her kind of reality.

Sitting side by side on a park bench she asked him what she had wondered about from time to time.

"Don't you feel fear? Fear of losing something or even fear of being discovered?"

She couldn't allow herself to think anything else. Everyone fears something. She could see that he really thought about it. Examined everything she said from different angles, trying to find out what she really meant.

"No, Granger, but I do feel dislike a lot. Fear and hate seem like they would be too much of a bother." He looked thoughtful as he said it.

Malfoy leaned forward, like he wanted to tell her a secret that no one else should hear.

"But I still love," he whispered to her.

She left then. What could she possibly say to something like that? In her world you couldn't love and then kill indiscriminately. He looked smug when she left. As likely as not, that could have been his goal for the entire conversation.

Cheerfulness was even harder to come by when she opened up her Muggle newspaper the next morning and read about the church that had been burnt to the ground. The author of the article noted that the police didn't think that the fire had killed the people inside, but they didn't have enough evidence to make a statement about the cause of death yet. Stone didn't burn but the church still looked dead on the picture. No hope to come by there.

Well, she couldn't do cheerful before so maybe it wasn't a great loss. She was probably only being overly dramatic again. Research might help. Hell, Japanese pop would help; the only thing that could make it worse was… No, the list was still too long to contemplate. Why could it always be worse?

Being by herself, connecting scraps of information gleaned from unwilling helpers didn't take her mind off the burnt church or anything else that had happened lately. She was sliding down a slippery slope and everyone she knew was right beside her. There were no willing hands left to pull them up.

She knew that talking helped, even writing it down would probably ease the burden somewhat, but she didn't dare. She had no idea what thoughts and feelings would surface if she put a quill to the paper. Everything would be too real and too tangible to ignore. She could deal with the facts, but she was closing off her emotions. So, perversely enough, the only one who heard a fraction of her jumbled thoughts was Malfoy. In a twisted way, he helped her to clear things up. He seemed to, if not enjoy listening, at least accept his role as listener. A sentence or two was usually enough for her, though, and he would probably not listen to anything more. She used to see it as a safety vent and he saw it as an opening to inject casual cruelty and the occasional degrading comment. She just didn't think it was enough anymore. She was keeping herself together purely by will, and if she let that control go, she wouldn't be getting it back soon. What kind of life did she have when the only person she ever talked to was an enemy? Hinting at her own confusion to an enemy because telling someone who actually cared for her was too painful?

-

Time passed, as it was wont to do. Somewhere babies were born, children laughed and people didn't think maudlin thoughts every waking hour of the day because they tried to hide from reality.

She worked, she argued, and she did a passing imitation of that elusive thing called living, all the time dreading each new day. Owls with messages she didn't want to answer, interrogations she didn't want to attend, and meetings she wished she had the guts to refuse to come to. In the end it all boiled down to love and she didn't think she could love humanity, or even the small part of it that had magic in its blood.

And here she was, once again sitting by his side waiting for information that could save those she still had it in her to love. She idly wondered how many hours of safety preparations he spent on each new meeting place. She knew it was impossible to Apparate inside a certain limit of his meeting point and she knew that every tracking method her friends used while she was meeting with Malfoy had failed spectacularly. Paranoia was the name of the game and he was exceptionally good at it.

* * *

He wasn't made for violence, but he was made for power. Violence could lead to power or be a side effect of power, so he made sure that he was good at it. Power at wand-point was better than no power at all, and could be intensely satisfying. Never as satisfying as this, though. All he had to do was use his mind and his experience at manipulating people to get exactly the results he was looking for. No violence, only words.

"We are alike, you and I, Granger. Not in the ways that really matter, of course, but in our strong dedication to reason. If we find something we truly value, it will be reasonable, and it will be worth it."

She couldn't say she enjoyed his little speech, and a large part of her wanted to tell him, scream at him, that they were nothing alike and never would be. A small part of her -- the one that couldn't be persuaded to shut up even after copious amounts of alcohol and was disgusted every time she tried lying to herself -- knew that he was right. Malfoy knew the extent of her crimes and her choices and exactly how she had tried to justify them. If she couldn't justify it to herself, she definitely couldn't justify it to Malfoy when it was blatantly obvious what she was doing. Playing God in a sick, little game she was co-creator in, even if it was just by agreeing to the rules. So no matter what he said, she was like him in every way that mattered.

"So what in this mess is reasonable to you, Malfoy? Keeping those I care for alive seems reasonable to me. But why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Because he asked me to, right before I killed him," he answered her.

She had no idea how many people he had killed and even less of an idea of how many people who would dream of asking something like that of their killer. Only one came to mind really.

"Snape?" she asked. "Why would he ask you and why would you do it?"

"Don't you ever get tired of asking questions, Granger? You're like a bloody dog with a bone, and about as well groomed. Just leave it," he said, and turned away from her to look out through the closest window.

The insult was practically friendly by their standards and did nothing to deter her. Since he didn't walk away she decided to push. If this really was the reason behind his help she wanted to know it. It wouldn't change anything, but it would make him more human she supposed. Which, in itself, wasn't a good reason to anger him but good enough for her, here and now.

"Why?" A little louder, a little more insistent.

"He saved my life, and this is what he wanted in return: me helping you."

"But you still kill, and, from what I see, you don't seem particularly upset about it."

Now that was the understatement of the year. Malfoy upset about killing. Couldn't she have phrased that question differently? Probably she lost her senses when he told her that Snape asked him to help them. That information led to many more questions than would ever be answered and was therefore not acceptable to think about.

"Granger, it was a debt to be honored and to be paid in full. Muggles are worthless and I would prefer the magical world to be free of as many Mudbloods and blood-traitors as possible. I am not on your side," he said in a long-suffering tone of voice. "I am on my side, the pure side. By now you must have realized that purity is not only about blood but about actions and deeds, too, Granger. Debts are always to be paid in full."

This he told her calmly, like it was the simplest thing in the world and a universal truth clear for everyone to see. His manners indicated that she simply hadn't seen the light yet, fighting on in this desperate way of hers.

She couldn't even tell him to fuck off because no matter how many times she heard or read about it, she was still shocked to realize that people believed this. They felt exactly the same about her that she felt about them. Like they really had no right to live any more.

"It is not the natural order of things! It is a social construction, made by people for people to make them feel safe in their superiority. A lie that has been accepted throughout society and is seen as the truth is still a lie!" She practically spit it out. What could she believe in, if not this?

"When enough people believe in a lie, it will become the truth and be all the stronger for it."

"You're not sane, Malfoy."

She knew she shouldn't push, shouldn't even look at him in the wrong way. Whatever the wrong way was. But this was like a roadside accident: she knew it was going to be awful but couldn't stop herself.

"So I'm insane simply because I'm not on your side, the opposite side? That's not where insanity comes from, Granger. I'm still hanging in there, but I promise to tell you when I feel the madness settling in, how about that? I want you there when it does arrive, you know." He looked faintly amused when he told her this. Like losing your sanity was an event not to be missed by anyone.

"Just because we are both dedicated to reason, Granger, doesn't mean that we have the same goal in mind. Or even the same way to reach it," he said.

"I should bloody well think so, Malfoy. Means to an end isn't a safe policy," she answered. She couldn't have told him if she were talking about him or about herself. The entire conversation was bordering on bizarre but she guessed none of them talked much to anyone else.

"Shush, Granger. You think that control is the only way you are going to grasp and understand everything, that is happening to you, but let me tell you something: order and control lead to chaos sooner or later. I just decided to start with the consequences first."

He sat there, pale in the gloom that surrounded them, exuding a slightly fanatical faith in himself and everything he believed in. If it were not a scary thing, she would have laughed. There would be no redemption for Draco Malfoy. He definitely did not want it and she could not even contemplate it.

-


	4. Nothing evil

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling, not me.

-

Courting chaos, chapter 4: Nothing evil.

"_He who fears death either fears to lose all sensation or fears new sensations. In reality, you will either feel nothing at all, and therefore nothing evil, or else, if you can feel any new sensations, you will be a new creature, and so will not have ceased to have life."_ – Marcus Aurelius

-

* * *

It was a familiar scene for her by this time. She was explaining herself once again. Telling Harry that the world wasn't the predictable place he wanted it to be, and that she couldn't make it so. 

She felt brittle. She had never before thought that it was an actual emotion to be felt, but rather a word alluding to poorly forged metal. But right now she felt brittle, and it wouldn't take much to break her.

"Chaos is not, and never will be, an option. I deal with control and so will you! Control him or control the results, just get me what I need!"

He looked like he wanted to pace and use large gestures to make her understand, but contented himself with standing as straight as he could, looking angrily at her. Hell, didn't he think she knew all this?

"I can't see every outcome so I can't control the actions leading to them, Harry! The only things I can control are my choices, and then I'm stuck with the consequences of the decisions I make. And no one is helping. All I ask for is a little support! The blame seems to start and stop with me these days."

"You're not letting us help. You close yourself up and joke about it, for heaven's sake! What do you want us to do? You stopped talking to us, you hardly eat, and the only thing you do is read and reread the information you gather. It's like you're turning off the part of you that makes you my friend, like only a part of you is still working properly!"

What did you say to something like that? Why, yes, Harry, you are entirely correct. I think it's a survival mechanism? If I don't do this I'm going to realize that the difference between us and them is getting more and more blurred every day this war drags on? Do you know what I see when I gather information from the captured Death Eaters or their potential allies? I see blood and torture and everything they hide from you because you are supposed to save us with love.

Surely he could understand that they all protected him? That's what you did with people you loved, right?

"You live in a dream, Harry, and I'm not going to shield you anymore, since you obviously don't care enough to shield me. This is not a grand war; this is terror on both sides and we are going to leave a world of hurt as a legacy."

What more could she say? She would give him all of her information from now on. Not censoring out the worst parts. He had to know what they did because this vile war had the potential to drag on long after both he and Voldemort were gone if they continued as they did today.

"You can't build a better world on other people's blood, Harry. And right now people are bleeding for that world, however much we all pretend otherwise."

If she said anything more she would never stop, so she left him there in the dark room, not standing as straight as he had at the beginning of their conversation. They were all living in their little dreams, but she had just pushed away one of the few people who still visited hers.

The end of her day wasn't in sight yet, though. She had a meeting with Malfoy first, and happy anticipation weren't the words she was looking for when thinking about it. Only duty would get her there and back, and then she would try to do something self-destructive and hope that everyone took a break for Christmas so she could get away with it.

* * *

- 

He sent her an address via owl and she felt like crying when she arrived. Before her lay a large toy store decked in Christmas cheer and covered in garish colors. She could feel the stress and tension from the tired parents and practically touch the adrenaline released from too many children on sugar highs. The joy of Christmas.

Something snapped in her, or possibly died. She would be hard-pressed to name it but she could feel that it was important.

They met in the back, among the board games and the coloring books. Together they looked like they were choosing a gift for a friend or a younger sibling. They looked like they were among the thousands of people out in the last minute rush.

She couldn't even stand to ask why, why here? Destruction followed him everywhere and recently it had gotten worse. Her nightmares had turned from green light followed by sudden death to fires and ruin. Lately it wasn't her ruin either. She was the one lighting the fires and creating the pain.

Standing among the bright colors, hearing the echoes from her own childhood, there was only fire and pain inside her mind. Destroying this was destroying childhood, innocence laced with the joy and greed of the upcoming holidays.

Finally, she looked at him and he looked back, smiling like he was glad to see her.

"Hello," he said, still smiling.

It was if her whole world had opened up and she could see farther than ever before. She could see the lives of people she had never met and never would meet. She could see them standing still inside the toy store like two small ants. No one cared for them; they were only two of many, many people. They were insignificant and she had no right to do what she was doing. The fire that had burned inside her a moment ago was replaced by a sad rage which she thought would never go away.

"This is for you, Granger." His smile was fraying at the edges, like he wasn't used to exercising those muscles. It made him look unbalanced and strangely innocent.

He gave her a large beribboned package.

"It is information in a festive package; I thought it was appropriate."

The package was covered in silk, nothing as plebeian as paper for a Malfoy, and it was the color of rusted blood tied with a silky white ribbon.

It was as if everything inside her stopped. No more heartbeat, no more breathing and no more hope. But when hope finally leaves, you can deal much more freely, because truly, what do you have left to lose?

How could you ever win against someone who thought it was acceptable, even slightly amusing, to kill children? How could you ally yourself with them and accept their help as means to an end?

The stillness, the silence broke and she threw a curse at him before he could even think to react. It was a _Reducto_ strong enough, angry enough, to throw him in to the wall and make the wall itself crumble. Distantly she could hear the screams of the parents and their children but they were too far away to fully register in her consciousness. She slowly moved through the now tumbled down shelves and displays until she reached his side. She picked up his wand on the way and casually broke it. He was a quick bastard and it wasn't worth giving him any chances.

"No more, Draco, never again."

He was bleeding from the head and it flowed down his cheek, sluggishly making its way down to the neck where it dropped to the floor. One of his arms was bent at an angle nature never intended.

He was still alive and somehow still conscious.

"Did you really think it, Granger? Today and this place full of children?" He said it mockingly.

She couldn't allow herself any doubts. Something always happened after he left their meeting places, she knew that.

"I wish I could prove you wrong, but you were right once again," he said quietly but clearly. "Are you ever going to understand that they don't mean anything to me? Their suffering isn't mine."

He almost looked wistful as he said it, like he wished that he could share something with other people, even if it were suffering.

She was kneeling beside him now, her wand in one hand and the other checking his pulse. It beat strong and steady.

"You're not worth it, Malfoy."

"I'm worth everything, Granger, and you know it." He tried to smile again and this time he managed something better than the last try even if it was flecked with blood. He mumbled something unintelligible and she leaned closer, using her now free hand to steady her.

"You will finish it though, won't you, Hermione?" He looked straight into her eyes and spoke so softly. His clear, grey eyes asked something of her.

She could feel his breath on her lips and she knew that when hope died it required a sacrifice. She would give what he asked of her.

"Yes," was her only word because even if he wanted anything more it wasn't hers to give.

With their faces so close together it wasn't hard for him to close the distance and kiss her. Dry, cool lips. A thank you of a kind, she guessed after she uttered those two words that made death come swiftly on wings of green.

Afterwards, as she walked out of the now empty building, all she could think was that it was a very sweet kiss from such a mad man.

* * *

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A/N: If you read the whole story through I'd be more than happy (overjoyed, in fact) to hear your opinion of it. What you liked and disliked, also any thoughts or ideas on how it could have been improved. I hope you have enjoyed it/Sorla


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